What I want to know is, When Are You Going to Get Some Teeth.
I ask this because I am hoping soon you will be able to eat things of the consistency of cantaloupe and not-quite-smushed-enough carrots. It would expand your palate, to say the least. I also ask this because I am wondering who you are and what you have done with my nice baby. You are cranky, touchy, grouchy, whiny, and a very-bad-no-good sleeper.
I love the stuffings out of you and I can still get a laugh out of you
almost always. But you are my sad, sad boy. It’s only been the past week or so, and it’s been accompanied by lots of snot, too. So I’m guessing: teeth.
The sleep thing is evolving. My champion sleeper is skipping whole naps to play (the nerve!) and fussing for an hour after bedtime. This too shall pass. Well, the fussing probably. The nap-skipping doesn’t stand a chance from now till eternity, I know, because even when you are 30 you are going to have the ambition of your daddy and your mommy combined and ambition has no time for naps. So enjoy them while they’re still the most productive thing you have to do with your time and by enjoy them I mean, Lie Down And Go To Sleep.
Your nine-month check-up put you a couple months ahead of the game developmentally and in the 90th percentile for height: you are dutifully representing both your daddy and your mommy, respectively, in the manifestation of your genetic make-up. Speaking of your nine-month check-up, you enjoyed the wait time between the nurse and the doctor by cruising all over the exam room in your skivvies, rolling your ball from corner to corner. You probably spend at least an hour every day at this activity and it is my favorite thing because it keeps you happy like nothing else…
Or it did until you got tall enough to reach the piano keys. You love to stand and reach the keys and play with your stubby chubby fingers and then you get tired of reaching and spend a moment drumming on the bench and then back to the keys. The other day I sat down to play some hymns and put you on the bench beside me. You pounded away in the high octaves while I played and every now and then you looked at me with this grin that said, “I love doing stuff with my mom!” It was pretty much the best.
The view I see of you most of the day is your little face looking up at me after you’ve climbed to your feet supported by legs. Great for the mom-productivity, I tell you. And you are a stair-climbing pro suddenly after lots of timid exploration and lazy disinterest. Today Daddy and I were sitting at the table eating lunch and we realized we hadn’t heard a peep from you. Daddy got up and peeked around the stairway wall and saw you up at the very top just hanging out.
Your fading interest in nursing got a little extra help from your first experience of Amoxicilin. The pink ambrosia was always waiting for you morning and night, and you knew it and weren’t about to be stalled. As for your other eating habits, they are pretty boring… Banana, cheerios, and yogurt with frozen blueberries for breakfast. Oatmeal, pancakes, or whatever we’re having for supper. Lunch is whatever I can scrounge up for you to stuff into your little mouth as fast as you can. Usually fruit and veggies and cheese and always, always, always a stack of saltines that would do your daddy proud.
You are holding forth with your stubborn little heart and teaching you to trust and obey is hard work that I like to avoid or put off whenever possible. Hopefully you will turn out OK anyway… Every night we pray with you and sing a hymn as we put you to bed and the peacefulness on your face as you lie wrapped up in our arms looking up at our faces is a joy. No matter what happens, that is always how your days end, and the security shows. In the mornings before I get you dressed we always sing the doxology and I pray for you. You love the doxology moment but the prayer is just one more thing between you and the toys. I can’t imagine parenting without the promises of the covenant. Time after time in moments of your disinterest or resistance I find myself turning to those promises and claiming them for you: “This little one belongs to you.”